About Will
by Smeaqol
Summary: A story where Will has lost everything, and slowly goes crazy, therefore ends up curing the floridacuba relations, as well as the political problem in bolivia, though the beggining may lead you to believe otherwise.
1. Introduction

(Starts approximately one month after the shutting of the final window, in Will's world.)  
  
A brief introduction  
  
A puddle of water sat undisturbed, filling a pot hole in the middle of the side walk. A layer of oil rainbowed around the surface, sparkling into colorful patterns that would rival that of a kaleidoscope. It was paid no interest by those passing by. Those with armfuls of groceries, piles of papers, or other pressing baggage, had no time to waste eyeing at a small spot of pollution. The water, though as vibrant as Joseph in his Technicolor dream coat, seemed to be a place to which the human eye averted itself. But it was not alone in this aspect. Dressed in worn leather shoes, second hand pants, and a broken wind breaker, the boy shlumped down the street, being paid less attention than a drone ant in the presence of its queen. The voltage of his inconspicuous meter could fry your breakfast black.  
  
The souls from his shoes slapped the concert in a monotonous rhythm. His mind was buzzing with a number of problems and questions, the majority of which were trivial. He was aware that the rumbling above his head was growing louder, and that rain clouds were commonly known as the biggest party pooper of them all. This poor soul, was Will Parry. And his shabby attire was his most minute problem.  
  
Will was raised by his mother, who he abandoned later in life. His mother was a bit strange. Not quite right in the head. She had weird obsessions, with touching and counting things. Despite all her quarks, her son loved her very much. But he was young, and jumped to conclusions. He grew weary of her, and asked an old friend – he thought she was a friend – to take care of her for a while. Will left his confused helpless mother on the doorstep of the piano teacher. The woman who would slap his hands with yardsticks when he made a mistake on his arpeggios. The woman who had enlisted her own daughter in Britain's armed forces, just to get her out of the house. Will needed to collect himself, but he had every intention of coming back. And come back he did. Several months later, he made his way to the door step of Mrs. Cooper, the demonic musician. Mrs. Cooper was not there. Had not lived there for weeks. And his mother? In a loony house. Sold to the black market. Thrown of Big Ben – how was one to be sure? For the past four months, Will had been in another world.  
  
Will was on his own. The one friend who he had on this earth was arrested on sight. Will was in a bit of trouble himself, but being the chameleon that he was, the police practically avoided him.  
  
The trouble that Will was in, was not necessarily light trouble. The boys will be boys plea did not cut his cookie in the right shape. His square pegged crime did not fit in the round hole of justice. He was cornered in a round room, with little to be done about it. He was a murderer. At least thought by some. The man who kills another man in self defense, should not be prosecuted, as well as if the death is accidental. Though both of these were true at the time, Will was pinned against the razor sharp edge of the law, and he could barley move.  
  
Will had tried ways of escaping. He had considered fleeing to other countries, but by England being an island, his modes of transportation were significantly limited. He had considered seeking outer help. A lawyer, a social services worker, someone who was on his side. But after lots of thought, the conclusion was made that he had a background only a mother could love, and even this was beyond his own mothers ability. He would have considered the possibility of resigning his live to the church. Becoming born again, and helping others, but Will was one of the few individuals who was affiliated with the concept that the God Almighty, was dead.  
  
Will was very special in other ways as well. He had discovered his second half. His better half. The primal, and also feminine half. As he plodded down the street, feet dragging, arms swaying, by his side proudly stepped a shimmering black cat. It trotted along, unseen by the eyes of the world around them. Unlike Will, Kirjava, Will's Dæmon did not have the choice of being seen. Will had come to the conclusion that only the people who looked the right way, could see his cat. Every one else had stupid eyes.  
  
A lonesome wondering boy, with his pet cat with no one else in the world, that is, not his world. 


	2. A stranger comes to town

A stranger comes to town  
  
The sun was slowly making its daily hike to the top of the mountain of earth. It scraped light over the land like an exceptionally large knife over grotesquely over sized portion of wonder-bread. It dripped out of the sky, illuminating the darkest mysteries of the night. The nocturnal weirdoes of Great Britain could be see sneaking back to the odd nooks and cracks that they inhabited during the day. So the light flowed, slowly down an alley way between two old, mossy stone buildings. It crept to Wills face and massaged the thin membrane covering his eyes. He flung his eyelids back, only to jam them shut again. His brief glimpse had told him enough. It was a fine day.  
  
He arose, dusting himself off. The scraping of a opening window above notified him that it was time to be moving on. A bucket was shoved out the window and upturned. Will sidestepped nimbly, avoiding yesterdays garbage, being added to the alley's trash heap. On the days that the sun was not his wake-up call, fermenting banana peals landing on his face were.  
  
The soles of Will's brown shoes flapped against the pavement as he walked. His shoes were falling apart piece by piece. Though they were the newest item of clothing that he was wearing, they had accumulated large holes in the bottoms and sides. Will was surprised that they were the first to go. Making his way down the street, he stepped into a shop to his right. The bell on the door jangled a merry tune, putting a warm cowbell feel into the atmosphere. The room was well lit, with a very thick atmosphere. Racks boxes, and crates lined the walls, as well as the rest of the room. Racks of tunes, beats, jams, and hits, placed alphabetically, ordered by their genre. Will looked around at the faces of Charles Mingus, Captain Beef Heart, the Clash, and others, shooting him their blank meaningless expressions from their unmoving photographic prison.  
  
As he stepped deeper into the house of rhythm, his feet fell into step with Marvin Gaye's voice as he proclaimed loud and clear that he had recently heard it through the grapevine. He stepped forward, searching around him. With a rattle, the door at the back of the store swung open. Standing in its frame was a woman. She was plump, with short red hair hanging around her forehead. Here eyes rambled over the contents of the store once, twice, finally resting on Will.  
"Oh hi," she said in a high pitched whiny voice. "I didn't see you at first."  
  
She waddled over to the counter, which was shaped as a square, and set directly in the middle of the room. Dropping her self into an already sagging chair, she rolled it around to face the dirty homeless boy who was facing her.  
  
"So what did you come here for today?"  
  
"I dunno. I just felt like getting out," Will said.  
  
"I see. Don't you get out much? Where do you live?"  
  
Will turned his back and started leafing through a rack of Records. The fading cardboard padded his finger tips as he looked past one record after another.  
  
"Well?" she pressed. Will panicked. Selecting at random, he pulled a record out of the depths of the rack.  
  
"Can we listen to this?" he asked. The woman dropped her previous question like a hippie dropping acid. She lifted it out of his hands, glancing over the record.  
  
"Otis Redding," she said before smiling up at him. "You have good taste. Just a second."  
  
She rolled the chair over the record player. Marvin Gaye was now asking anyone who would listen, "what's going on?" She lifted the needle from its lowered position, and removed the black vinyl off of where it turned idly. From its sleeve, she drew the record, and laid it onto the turntable, lowering the needle until it scratched relentlessly at its twisting adversary of plastic.  
  
"This is a really good song, though it's pretty much all he is know by," the lady said. Will noted that her ears jiggled when she talked. "Otis Redding is a really interesting musician, I wish people would listen to more of his stuff than this one song.  
  
Will nodded blankly. He had less than the faintest idea of what she was talking about. In his opinion, the song was about a boring trip to the a bay, where the singer spent most of his time sitting on the dock with nothing to do. The song progressed, and eventually ended.  
  
Deciding that Will was not going to talk, the woman stood up, her chair groaning in relief.  
  
"Listen," she said. "I'm going down the street to get a coffee. You can stay here, and keep listening, it's a good record. I won't be long. Is that okay?  
  
Will was a bit thrown off. He was cautious.  
  
"You barley know me."  
  
"You've come in here more than five times, so I consider you a regular. I trust all my regulars. I'll be right back, I promise," she said, grabbing her coat and hat, which were suffocating a helpless coat rack placed next to the door. As she tied her a scarf the length of an average billboard around her neck, she mentioned "Just, don't steal any thing."  
  
The door clanked behind her. Will watched her body bouncing with every step she took until she was no longer in view of the windows. Will looked around. He was alone. And he didn't like it. As if on cue, he heard a scratching at the door. He went to it and turned the handle. As he cracked the door, through the opening flew his dæmon, the black cat. She was as radiant as ever, but apparently a bit chilly.  
  
"It's bloody freezing out there."  
  
"I know," acknowledge Will, looking around again. He felt better. Slowly, his feet took him in a path, that eventually lead him behind the desk. He sat down in the chair, which stopped in mid groan after realizing it was now supporting someone who weighted considerably less weight. He laid his head back, letting to calm melodies of Otis Redding rock his mind back and forth.  
  
The door jingled, causing Will to jump up. It was a natural reflex, one that he wished he could over come, because sudden movements were the most predominant attracter of human – and all animal, eyes.  
  
The person standing in the door way was not the robust woman, taking off her coat, and preparing to scold Will for sitting behind the desk, but a tall thin man, with a well trimmed mustache. A silver star of David hung limply from a silver chain, circling his neck. He folded the newspaper he was holding, placing it under his arm, and rubbed his hands together.  
  
Will's feet were faster than his mind. With no other aid, Will's legs stood him upright and launched him from behind the desk. The man's eyes rested on Will, who was now leaning awkwardly against the counter, bobbing his head off beat to the music. The man frowned, bringing his long, plucked eyebrows together, and pushing out his thin lips, wrinkling his nose, and squinting his eyes. Even his ears adjusted to this face. A face that must have taken lots of practice to bring it self to the all and proper state of obscurity that it now held.  
"Tell me," said the man, dropping his perplexing look and transforming into a proper English gentleman. "Do you have the carry a record with the song "The Wind Beneath my Wings" by Betty Middler?"  
  
Will bit his lip. He had heard of no such song in his life, there for it could not have been very popular. Will had listened to the radio a good deal as a child, until the year before he left, when his mother had not been well enough to pay its tax, and it was reclaimed by the state.  
  
"I don't work here. Sorry I can't help," he admitted. Kirjava, his dæmon, leaped onto the counter. Unless will was very mistaken, the man had glanced – however briefly – at the cat. Though it was possible he was looking for an employee of sorts.  
  
"Very well. This place looks unorganized enough for me not to be able to find it on my own, so I'll be off. By the way, nice cat." And with those final, dumbfounding words, he left Will gaping in the shop.  
  
Will acted purely on instinct. He was at the door in seconds, and out it in moments. Glancing up the street he saw the blue collar making her way down the street, coffee in hand. Will gave her a wave, which she returned, and then he bounded after the man who had recognized his cat. 


	3. A stranger comes to town – Continued

A stranger comes to town – Continued  
(In which the Author uses a thesaurus)  
  
The splish and splash, slosh and slop, spatter and splatter of moist saturating water, soaked the already sodden trousers, sagging from Will's heavy hips. His eyes a squint, flashing in all directions in search of the mystifyingly anomalous culprit who had blatantly observed the feline co- part of his very soul. It was known by him, that only someone with a dæmon of his own, or a person so incomparably enlightened, or a person of some strange fantastic religion who had some how trained themselves to visualize the primal nature inside all humans, could see his black cat compatriot. Will vigorously scanned the streets with peepers prodding all corners, carnies, crevices, and cavities. The magical man, using his voodoo trickery had performed the impossible act. He had pulled the rabbit out of the all time tip top hat. Flatly – he had vanished.  
  
Interlude  
(Skip if you wish.) The author notes that the reader must indeed be getting tired of words being jumbled together one after another like two puzzles mixed together in one box. He wishes to explain, that this writing style was only used in hopes of increasing his vocabulary. But, for your, and in the long run, his own convenience, he resides himself to put away the dictionary.  
  
The sky was still over cast. The gray clouds dully drumming their ways into the already smog filled skies of Oxford. Will's small bout of excitement mixed with paranoia, was slowly diminishing into his usual buzz of self-hating boredom. He stood in the middle of the side walk, very much in the open. Feeling like the gingerbread man on the tip of the foxes nose, he quickly departed down a side alley. It smelled of urine. Day old urine, laying in the recesses of the dark lane, un touched by the purity of heavenly water falling to earth.  
  
Will smelled worse. The stench radiating from the un-bathed boy could be cut with a butchers knife. It had been months since he had showered, washed his face, changed an article of clothing. If anyone had wanted to find him badly enough, all they had to do was follow the smell. Unfortunately, following smells anywhere in England usually leads you to bad places.  
  
Will had seen bad places. When he was little, a boy from school had invited him to a birthday party. As Will's mother turned into the neighborhood, they both knew the party would not be full of birthday fun. Fires in the street. Broken wine bottles strewn about the asphalt. People looking like chimney sweeps. It was a memory Will had saved his entire life. Never had he though that one day he would walk as one of them.  
  
Slumping down against a wall, Will scratched behind his ear. Dirt and dust, as well as several insects dislodged themselves from their previous resting places, only to find themselves relocated on the ground.  
  
A door near the plot of ground on which Will was sitting creaked open. A bodiless hand extended itself slowly. A finger curled itself in an inviting motion, pulling Will closer by an imaginary force. Obeying his feet, Will stood and stepped. It was not until he blocked the doorway with his own stature, that he recognized who the appendage belonged to. With his penciled mustache, and clean shaven chin, the man after whom he had been chasing faced him now from inside a dimly lit room.  
  
"Hi," said Will, dumbfounded on all accounts. Rendered speechless, all thoughts and questions, all sentence fragments and phrases, all parts of speech, had fled through the back door of his mind.  
  
"My greetings," said the man. This brought Will back. What a strange person. Who honestly says 'my greetings?' A question for another time perhaps.  
  
"You...You saw my cat."  
  
"And?" questioned the man, as he retreated further into the room, taking a seat in an ancient wooden chair behind a table.  
  
"No one sees my cat."  
  
At this, the man paid Will his already famous perplexifying look. Squinting his eyebrows, pushing out his lips, wrinkling his nose – Will quickly associated this extreme impression of a monkey who has sat on its last banana with the name, The Look. But the look soon gave way. The man began to understand the phenomena which he had accomplished. His eyes opened wide, his mustache seemed to curl. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew something, and laid it on the table. Will had to squint to see in the dark. It was not actually what he saw that gave away the objects being. What he saw was a small round ball, with two glinting objects near its front. The smell had not changed. He felt nothing. But what he heard made him understand. This object squeaked. And then it moved. It crept along the table, creeping into brighter light, creeping into the depths of Wills already befuddled mind. It was a mouse. It reared up on its hind legs, swishing its tail back and forth behind it.  
  
"This is Luther," said the man. "Can you see him?"  
  
"Of course I can see him."  
  
The man stood up. Abandoning his refuge behind the shabby three legged wooden desk. He stepped lively, scooping up the rodent, then making his way past Will and out the door. His hand behind him, finger extended invitingly, once again pulled Will along.  
  
"Where is your cat?" the man asked, once Will had caught up with him.  
  
"I don't know," said Will, truthfully. The man gave him The Look again. Will began to understand that this was the look the man used when he was confused, disappointed, or under a great deal of stress. Will pondered what the nature of The Look was. Where it originated. What scientific motivation was the intention of The Look.  
  
"What do you mean you don't know? She's your dæmon isn't she?"  
  
"Of course she is."  
  
"Then how can you not know where she is. She must be near you somewhere."  
  
"Possibly," acknowledged Will. After noting that this did not ease the mans confusion, he went on. "We were separated, you see? I got in a boat, and she wasn't allowed to come. It's rather difficult to explain."  
  
"Where did this occur?" asked the man. Will sensed that it was a loaded question. He decided now was a good time to discharge. This man could not be from around here anyway. There was no need to fear him. He wore a star of David, Proclaiming him to be Jewish. The only people Will was afraid of were the bloody Catholics, the filthy Protestants. The Baptists, Methodists, Saxons, Brethren, Presbyterian, all Christians and the like. Never before had he been given reason to have quarrel with a person of Jewish faith.  
  
"It happened in another world."  
  
This resolved the mans look. It fled from his face like the French from war.  
  
Interlude  
(Skip if you wish.) The author would like to acknowledge his profound respect for the French. He thinks they are a very cultured and highly developed population of people, and also respects them for their opposition to fighting. The author would just like to say that, out of lack of a better analogy, the French were the easiest to pick on.  
  
"I could have guessed as much," said the man, now turning from the alley way, back onto the street. "Which world are you from?"  
  
"This one," said Will, which increased the ferocity at which the mans Look was being portrayed. Will obviously had explaining to do. "Well, okay look. About a year ago, maybe not quite, I found this opening into another world," the man nodded, obviously comprehending this much. "I then met this girl. She had some sort of quest she had to fulfill. So I followed her around." Will was intentionally vague on the details. He did not wish to disclose certain parts of his story. Parts that had ended up broken, and placed inside a small wooden box, which He now carried in his pocket. "Finally, we ended up in this one world, where we had to cross a lake, and the man in the boat wouldn't let our dæmons on. I couldn't see my dæmon obviously, but the girl, she had hers, and was very reluctant to give it up. We crossed anyway. It was the most painful...thing...I've ever felt. We finally left that world, and met up with our dæmons again. When we did, I could see mine."  
  
"I see. And you came back to this world?" asked the man.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And the girl?"  
  
"She returned to her world."  
  
"I see. Why didn't she stay?"  
  
Will was having a hard time remembering. It seemed so long ago. All he could remember clearly was her face. Her muddy skin, matted hair, bruised cheekbones, all compiled into the Picasso piece that made up her being. The most beautiful person he had ever seen – though he recalled it had taken him a while to see her in this light.  
  
"Because, if people are away from their worlds to long, then begin to die. Its a matter of life force really. I don't quite understand it. I have a friend who can explain it much better than I can."  
  
"We better go and see your friend then," the man stated.  
  
"We can't really. She's In the penitentiary."  
  
This put a damper on their conversation. The man paused to think.  
  
"Come on. Let's go this way," he said, pointing across the street. Will made no objection. The traffic was slow. Cars seemed to be as scarce as the Florida Skunk Ape.  
  
Interlude  
(Skip if you wish.) The author first of all wishes to apologize for the number of interludes. Secondly, he would like to inform the reader that the Florida Skunk Ape is a very strange phenomena, and will be playing a greater role in the story later on, when Will makes his way to Cuba.  
  
Will was almost to the other side. His eyes swept from left to right, looking for cars, or other metal objects traveling at high speeds. If only his eyes had looked at the ground in front of him, they would have noticed the open manhole. 


End file.
